Jack Marston hummed as he hammered the last nail into the plank. It had been hard work by himself, but it was done! The fence was fixed. He wiped the sweat from her forehead with his sleeve, and sighed. He looked towards the hill where his father and Uncle were buried.
"I need help Pa," he muttered to himself.
His mother helped out as much as she could, but her health was not good. She had trouble focusing on him and doing the house work. With that in mind, Jack started making his way back to the house, swinging the hammer lazily, a wide grin on his face. Jack mounted the steps to the house and caught sight of himself in a window. He frowned. He looked older than seventeen. More grown up. More like his father. His grin faded from his face. Maybe that's why his mother had trouble looking at him. Sighing, Jack entered the house, a heavy feeling in his stomach.
000
It was later that night, after his mother had gone to bed, that Jack grabbed the double barrelled shotgun he kept in his room. Someone had knocked on the door. Very few people called to their ranch. Fewer still on the weekends, and no one at ten thirty at night. Jack crept to the door, avoiding the creaking floorboard he kept meaning to fix. As quickly as he could, Jack threw open the door and raised the shotgun, pointing in the face of an old man in a top hat.
"Wow my boy, no need to get violent," the stranger said.
"Who are you?" Jack demanded.
"West Dickens. Nigel West Dickens. Purveyor of tonics and lotions for all manner of ailments," the man said with a flourish.
Nigel West Dickens. Where had Jack heard that name before? His eyes widened when he remembered. This was one of the men who had helped his father when those government pigs had sent him to track down his old gang. Jack lowered the gun a little.
"What can I do for you, Mr. West Dickens?" Jack asked.
"I'm looking for a John Marston. I was told he lived here," the older man said. Jack felt his stomach tighten.
"My father has been dead for a year," Jack informed him. The other man's face fell.
"That's not good. Not good at all."
"Why?" Jack asked, curious.
"Oh, several reasons. So many of his friends need help, for a start. All the people who helped him."
There was something sly about the way he said this, but Jack didn't care. If anyone who helped his father needed help, Jack would help them. They had helped, in some small part, in reuniting their family, even if it was for a short while.
"What kind of help, Mr. West Dickens?"
The old man smiled.
000
Two days later saw Jack stopping a wagon in front of the home of Ms. Bonnie MacFarlane. He had sent her a telegram asking her to look after his mother. She had responded promptly saying she would. After his mother fell asleep in a chair, and Bonnie's father Drew had gone out to check the heard, Bonnie asked Jack a question that Jack knew was eating at her for a while.
"I'm sorry about your father, Jack. But, can I ask, what brings you down here?"
"Nigel West Dickens," he answered. "He said some of you folks needed help."
"Well, it's true. Between the rustlers and what not. But how did West Dickens know?"
"How does that old coot know anything? All I know is, I gotta go meet him in Thieves Landing."
Bonnie looked at him sadly.
"When you are done with him, come see me."
"I will miss," Jack said, and walked to his horse.
Authors Note: So what do you think? Hopefully will have chapter two up soon.